


Dragon's Flight

by DownhillSky



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Angst, High Rock (Elder Scrolls), Imperials are bastards, Prequel, Road Trips, also she won't learn about dragons yet, aromantic dovahkiin | dragonborn, characters make lewd jokes, its before skyrim anyway, kind of, people will die sorry, that got real fast, they're lesbians harold, wow Jallisse is a bad liar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:41:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25243327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DownhillSky/pseuds/DownhillSky
Summary: It is the nearing the end of summer, in the two-hundred and first year of the Fourth Era, and I am fleeing for my life. My name is Jallisse Hearthsly, and while the name may be more appropriate now more than ever given my newfound lack of a home, I likely may never safely claim to it again. I was an adventurer by trade - I find missing people and property, resolve disputes, rid innkeepers’ basements of oversized vermin, and very rarely, delve into ancient crypts in search of forgotten treasure.Follow Jallisse's journey as she flees from High Rock to the neighbouring Skyrim after a dungeon dive gone wrong changes her life forever.This story is the prequel to a modded Skyrim roleplay write-up, which got out of hand while I was writing it. This is my first published story, so please comment and critique!
Relationships: Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. Prologue

It is the nearing the end of summer, in the two-hundred and first year of the Fourth Era, and I am fleeing for my life. My name is Jallisse Hearthsly, and while the name may be more appropriate now more than ever given my newfound lack of a home, I likely may never safely claim to it again. I was an adventurer by trade - I find missing people and property, resolve disputes, rid innkeepers’ basements of oversized vermin, and very rarely, delve into ancient crypts in search of forgotten treasure.  
I made a bad call on the last one, and now I crouch in an alleyway, my leathers smeared with mud and the dried blood of someone I called a friend, a dagger at my waist, carrying a backpack with all the possessions I could fit and wouldn’t make too much noise as I run. A few of my books, spare clothes, some jewellery I can hawk when needed, my last remaining potions of change, and a few hundred septims to pay the smugglers I plan to meet. I’m babbling, I know, but I need to keep myself calm somehow and- I see a light around the corner.  
I pull myself closer to the wall, hoping they don’t see me. I hold my breath, stilling the hammering of my heart, hoping they can’t hear me. I don’t understand why my heart’s pounding so much, really - it must be the panic. I’ve certainly fought before, and I’ve killed groups of bandits alone! I’m certainly not scared of one villager with a torch. Even if I knew them. Probably danced with them at a few festivals, even. How could I be scared of someone like that? Besides, its not like my heart should even-  
I choke down a sob. The light’s passed. I haven’t been seen.  
I can’t hear anyone else coming, so I plant a hand on the rough stone of the town wall behind me and climb over, to freedom.

\--

The sun rises as I shelter under a tree. My armour is stowed away in my bag now, and I’ve changed into some simple green breeches and a plain undyed tunic, both stained from the poor conditions I’ve had them in, my dagger still sheathed in my belt. My bra still has some blood on it, but the cut of my top is not quite low enough to show that, so I just have to avoid dwelling on it. Honestly, I am nearly surprised I didn’t catch fire in the daylight - it seems a fitting punishment for someone like me.  
I take up my things, slip on my boots, and start hiking.

\--

I’ve known the local smugglers for some time. I might even go so far as to call their leader a friend, but the actual crew changes so frequently that the same cannot be said for them, even with how regularly we meet for me to pick up my potions. And what with the whole Orsinium situation a few years back… let us just say that I have given them their fair share of customers.  
“Hail!,” I cry, “It’s me! Jallisse!”  
I look at the rock I know they hide their lookout behind, and see a face peer round to me - before quickly ducking back, hopefully in recognition. I hear a man cry out, alerting the rest of them to my presence, and confirming who I am. I don’t remember the redguard’s name - Cyrus? Cyrion? Something like that. Either way, it is not long until a nord is walking up to me, all blond locks and far too much visible muscle now that Sun’s Height is reaching it’s end. I dread to think of the temperatures there, if she still considers this hot.  
“Ingne! It’s good to see you,” I say, reaching out to clasp her hand, “and I am sorry I couldn’t warn you of my approach.”  
She levels her eyes at me, suspicion mixed with curiosity.  
“What’s this about, Jallisse? Another friend of yours decide that they couldn’t bear the attention of your fellows? As good as it is to see a friend, you aren’t due for another few days yet, unless I forget the days.”  
I smile anxiously, my voice breaking slightly as I respond.  
“Unfortunately, it’s not about my friends or my body, this time. It- it seems I helped the wrong people, and I think Skyrim might be a good place to hide for a little while.”  
It isn’t truly a lie. Not if I keep telling myself it didn’t happen.  
“I brought the usual payment, too!”  
Her eyes soften, though she is still wary. She never did like surprises.  
“Well… I guess nothing bad happened last time. Follow me.”  
We walk round to a hooded waggon, marked for trading. It has a few stacked barrels and crates beside it, and the interior is smooth until the very back, where the sides are marked with enough seats to fit a single person on each side. I never did say they were very big smugglers.  
“Climb in back, and we’ll be off - I’ll take your gold when we get there.”  
I do as indicated, her hand pressed against my back for aid, and one of her helpers starts to place the goods to conceal me.  
The light dims, but even when I should be sealed in total darkness, I can still see perfectly. As the cart begins to sway with movement, I finally have to accept it.

My name is Jallisse. I am a breton adventurer - a locater of missing people and property, hunter of vermin, slayer of bandits. And as of last night, I am a vampire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we begin! Comments are very much appreciated, and I'll put footnotes on every subsequent chapter for things that are common or at least entry-level academic knowledge for the people of the Elder Scrolls, in order that the topic appears in the chapter.
> 
> Fourth Era: The years in the continent of Tamriel are split into several Eras, which start whenever important things happen. Some of the early games were set in the Third Era, but the Fourth was started by the events of the game Oblivion - the official start of the Fourth Era was the ending of a demonic invasion.  
> Specific ethnic groups are already covered in chapter two's notes, so I'll leave them out for now - essentially, Ingne comes from Fantasy Sweden, and redguards are Fantasy Arabians that share a common border with both Fantasy England and Fantasy Sweden. No, I do not understand the sudden temperature change inherent there either.


	2. Slow Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day of the journey begins - and while Jallisse has the comfort of an old friend to draw on, she still has much to think on

Many hours have passed. We took the occasional stop on the way, to relieve ourselves and distribute rations, but Magnus is beginning to dip below the horizon now, and so we break for camp. We’ve made good time, according to Ingne - the foothills we’re in are a good hour or two further than we should be, which bodes well. Cirroc, the redguard whose name I forgot, badgers the other breton (a woman by the name of Gwynona) into fetching the firewood, staring at me the entire time. I don’t think he trusts me, which is fair enough - he doesn’t know me, I’m probably acting a little strange, and I have a niggling feeling he doesn’t like that Ingne has placed so much trust in me. I worry if he finds out - Ingne, at least, might be open to talk (she always has had a soft spot for me), but the warriors of Hammerfell have a famed hatred of undeath in all its forms. When the fire’s going, and the stew is cooked, I hide my disappointment as I drink it down. While it seems enough for the others, I’m left peckish still.  
Somewhat unsurprisingly, the man voices his displeasure when sleeping arrangements are brought up. I have no tent, or even bedroll of my own, so Ingne offers to share hers. It is hardly the first time, though Cirroc doesn’t know that. He is angered even more, in fact, that he’s risking his life for one of the nords damned flings.  
That gets him ordered away. I ask Ingne about the danger - it certainly wasn’t life threatening when asked before - and she informs me of the civil war. That worries me, somewhat understandably so, but she is quick to tell me that its only a minor thing unless you are a soldier or an elf. Neither side has been targeting civilians, though the whole kerfuffle was started over the leader of the dissidents disliking non-humans. Doesn’t exactly fill me with hope, and I say as much, but I suppose it is still far better than staying here. She hugs me, then closes the tent flaps so that we may strip and slip into bed in peace.  
… I do not sleep well that night. And while Ingne is certainly an attractive woman, a fact that gives her a smug smile at my admittance, I don’t think its that. She notes that I seem cold, when I’m usually making enough heat that she considers removing the furs. Do I think I caught something?  
Maybe, I reply as I snuggle tighter against her breast, but it’s probably just a hay-fever.  
I trust her, but not enough for this. I don’t think I will trust anyone enough for this.

I open my eyes, and it is still dark outside. Do I even need sleep anymore? I might as well use this time to take stock of myself.  
My vision is still perfectly clear, even though there is no source of light here, so I suppose thats a thing - though it is one I’ve been getting more used to over the course of the day. I carefully pull my free arm from where it rests over the nord’s hip, and place a hand to my sternum - the flesh is mottled, likely a mess of scar tissue. I can’t see it, not without moving enough to wake my friend, but she didn’t comment on it so I think it’s healed enough to not be immediately visible any more. I think back to the magic that gave it to me, the excruciating pain of my very being stripped from me - small wonder that it looked like someone had held a burning torch against my chest. How long do burns normally take to heal? Something tells me that its more than the four days since then.  
I suppose I can add rapid healing to the list of things that was true about vampires. I know we don’t burn in sunlight, however, so clearly not everything falls into place in such a manner.  
Remembering, I check the wounds and scrapes I suffered at- I stop myself from thinking of the name of the village, the faces of people I knew, the torches and the knives. Focus. Focus on the cut. There should be one across my stomach.  
There isn’t.  
That solves that problem I suppose. What’s next to check? Magic. Magic is important, right? Stories say vampires have advanced skills in it, after all. I close my eyes, and lift my hand out into the cold, thinking of the forces I can summon. The heat of a flame calls to my fingers, and it certainly feels hotter than normal. I quickly extinguish them, and check the next, as a gentle glow of light fills the room. My teacher said that such spells would fail on undead, or even better, harm them outright. But it still feels so soothing… I hear a soft sigh from my bedmate, and take that as enough of a reminder to not try and test the theory. I cast my mind once more, feeling for a familiar presence - a low whine echoes through my mind in response. She’s still here then. Good.  
All my magic is accounted for, then. I won’t look for anything new - that takes hours, and besides. The less I use this cursed thing, the better.  
I nuzzle my chin back into the crook of Ingne’s neck, and try to think sleepy thoughts instead of dwelling on how close the jerky in my pack is.  
Gods, but I could really use a snack right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This'll be the last short chapter for a while, but as you can see, I'm trying to generally structure the series so that I'm ordering the chapters as days of the journey! I'm a little under halfway through writing as of posting this, but if it all carries on the trend, there should be somewhere around 17 chapters in total. Since I've gotten way too into this, I'm going to posting one chapter a day, hopefully!  
> As always, comments are very much appreciated.
> 
> Footnotes for people that don't know much about the world of the Elder Scrolls, in order of appearance:  
> Magnus is the name of the Sun. A bit of a misnomer, given that its technically a giant hole in reality, but it doesn't need to be that complicated yet.  
> Redguards are an ethnic group - they come from Yokuda, invaded the desert region of Hammerfell, something happened that destroyed their homeland, and now they're mostly sailors. They are heavily based on Indian and Arabian stereotypes during the games.  
> Bretons are half-elves - depending on who you ask, the result of the precusors to humanity having flings with either high elves or giants. Regardless of which, they vary wildly in height, are innately skilled with magic and countering its effects, sometimes have pointed ears, and live in the equivalent of Britain, called High Rock.  
> Skyrim's civil war being purely based around racism is a bit of an oversimplification of its leader's motivations, but seems to be mostly correct for its footsoldiers. You really don't want to be a foreigner, or even look foreign, on their side of Skyrim.  
> As for the spells, this is based on Vallisse as a character. At the start of the game, ignoring her vampire abilities, she has a minor flamethrower (called "Flames"), a spell that rapidly regenerates the user (called "Heal"), and a spell that summons a minor daedra in the form of a wolf for a short time (called "Animal Companion").  
> Speaking of Daedra, they are a form of extraplanar entity. Many cultures view them simply as demons, but I tend to take a much more neutral view of them. Also, minor fun fact cause a lot of people don't know this, but the Daedric Lords have no set gender for any of them - they can just change how they present on a whim, though many choose the same one consistently. The prime example of one that does change often is Boethiah, who changes gender for every game.


	3. Discoveries

I wake up in the light. It’s… actually somewhat uncomfortable now. That’s probably not good. Worse, I’m hungry. Last night’s dinner clearly did nothing for me, so I slip out of bed to grab some of the jerky. Ingne groans slightly as I untangle our legs, but just proceeds to snuggle deeper into the fur. I rummage through our stuff, pull out a few strips of the salted meat, and move to bite down-  
Was my tongue always this sensitive? Cause I haven’t even finished biting, and I know that getting it trapped between your teeth by accident hurts like a bitch, but I managed to catch myself beforehand so it shouldn’t be?  
A small trickle of blood over-salts the beef in my mouth. I slowly, deliberately, pull the strip back out, and test my canine with my thumb. Ow. Yep, thats a fang now all right.  
Uh.  
Shit.  
That’s probably a lot more noticeable than I thought.  
Also, wait a minute, why the hell was my tongue between my teeth? I don’t think I’ve done that since I was kid! I quickly poke it out and oh, yep, thats certainly something. I should, uh. Yeah no, Ingne’ll definitely notice that. More shit.  
I make sure to keep it flat within my mouth, a phrase I never thought I’d have to say about my own tongue, and bite down again on the jerky. It hits the spot, but it still isn’t exactly filling. The emptiness of someone in need of a good breakfast returns in full force shortly afterwards, and I devour another strip so quickly I barely register that my tongue doesn’t hurt any more.  
“Ja~al?”  
Ingne’s yawning and having a stretch by the time I turn around. I’m not blushing. It’s just my newfound sensitivity to sunlight.  
Stop smirking, Ingne.  
She blinks a little and starts to look a little shocked.  
… Malacath, do I have telepathy now?  
“Jal.”  
“Ye- yes?”  
“Who did that to you.”  
Ah. She saw the burn scar, not my thoughts. Quick brain, think of a good lie. Stop thinking of how painful it is to do so.  
“One of the assholes I’m running from. They had- they had a torch, and.”  
“Jal.”  
“I- its fine, really, I-”  
“Jal, listen to me. Have you seen a healer?”  
“I- N-no, I-”  
I nervously raise a hand, watching it fill with the dancing bands of light of my healing magic. Ingne looks more shocked, somehow.  
“I didn’t know you were a mage.”  
“N- not much of one. I can only heal myself, and I’ve got a few basic combat spells. And a dog.”  
Ingne looks puzzled. I grin.  
“I can show them you, if you like? Outside, though. It’s a bit cramped in here as it is.”  
She smiles.  
“Get dressed then, milk-drinker. I want to see this!”  
Her pet-name makes me blush more, as always, but I start shrugging on my pants. My nose wrinkles at the bloodstained bra I’d discarded last night, and I slip my top on without it - its not like I’ve been particularly sensitive lately. I glance back, just in time to see the nord lacing up her furs, hiding her abs from me once more. I’m sad to see them go, of course, but I’m kinda glad she’s always been easy to distract with cute animals - it makes it easier to direct her away from stuff that’ll give away this particular secret.  
“Need a hand?”

\--

We’re out of the tent a good fifteen minutes later, blushing and giggling. I’d almost forgot how much I missed her, what with how long the refugee smuggling takes. Cirroc glowers at us, but Gwynona is quick to direct him to start packing up their tents so we can be off quicker. Making sure my friend is watching, I raise my hand, watching it fill with inky blackness - a small portal to the planes of Oblivion, as evidenced by the faint howling and barking that fills it. I through the orb next to the ashes of our fire pit, and a ghostly wolf appears suddenly - quite see through, all blue and misty. They pad towards us and look in askance. Ingne looks even more shocked.  
“Jal, I thought you said a dog, not a demon!”  
I snort.  
“Details. They’re a creature from the plane, fairly intelligent in fact, but quite bad at planning -” the wolf whines at hearing this “- don’t take that tone with me, it’s true, I have yet to see you do anything more than just run straight at the enemy and get sent back near instantly.”  
More surprise.  
“What do you mean, sent back?”  
“Well, they’re a daedra,” I explain, “so they can’t really die. Whenever they would, or the spell keeping them here runs out of time, they just get sent back home. Course, having a get out of jail free card makes them kinda reckless sometimes. And they don’t like listening to me unless its important, do they.”  
The last remark comes out as the wolf starts gently poking Ingne’s thigh with its nose. The person in question has a cast to her eyes I’m very familiar with at this point as she turns to me.  
“… yes, you can pet them. I’ll go pack up the tent.”  
Of course, I have a slight grin at her inevitable wail when I hear the snapping sound of the wolf dissipating some minute or so later. I did say the spell had a short timer, didn’t I?

\--

The exhaustion hits shortly after I finish packing up the tent. I’m swaying in the morning sun, sweating like a pig. This isn’t- this can’t be normal, right? I know I used a lot of mana summoning that wolf, but I should’ve recovered before the spell ran out. Why do I still ache? Everything seems so- so bright, now. There’s a slight ringing in my ears. Is this heatstroke?  
“Hey, uh - Ingne? Would. Would you mind passing the wineskin?” I’m holding onto one of the wooden rods from the tent, keeping myself upright. Don’t think. Don’t move. You’ll fall if you do, and there’s stones down there. And your knife. That won’t end well.  
“Huh? Sure.” A leather sack is pushed into my hands. “Are you okay? You look-”  
“It’s just heatstroke, I think. Didn’t drink anything since dinner, and I’m still healing.” I chuckle weakly, before drinking down the contents of the pouch without pause for air. It doesn’t help. I’m so, so thirsty right now. Why isn’t this helping? You know why, says a treacherous thought in the back of my mind. I clamp it down.  
“You look like you’ve got a fever, Jal. Go sit in the cart, we’ll finish packing.”  
She puts my arm over her back, and starts walking me to the shade. I can’t help but take glances at her neck. I can see the vein pulsing in it. It would be so easy- I bite down on my tongue again. Bad thoughts. Go away.  
Ingne places me down on the bench at the back. The light dims to comfortable levels, and the ringing stops. The mana exhaustion goes away. I have an uncomfortable feeling I know why. Ingne is rambling at me - the kind of continued speech you use to make sure the person has something to focus on, keep them awake, make sure you’re okay. One thing stands out to me in it.  
“I’ve never noticed that about your eyes before - they’ve got, uh, red flecks in them. I thought they were just solid grey - thats interesting, huh?”  
I keep thinking about that, even when the cart’s filled up again and we’re moving into the mountains. I’ve always had blue eyes - the icy kind, where you can’t quite tell if they’re blue or grey, it all depends on the lighting when you look. They’ve never had any other colours mixed in, though.  
I haven’t even looked in a mirror since I fled. It was a nice morning until now.  
I hate this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact about vampirism - while you need to be Seriously low on blood to actually catch fire, sunlight is still very bad for you! Whenever you enter sunlight, your maximum hitpoints and stamnia are reduced, and whats more, you lose the ability to regenerate any of your magicka, health, or stamina unless in shade, at which point it returns very slowly. I wanted to play around a little with this, and so I made extended loss of magicka function a little like heatstroke - it starts as a mild headache, and progresses from there until you pass out.  
> That was my big comment for today, so before the encyclopedia comes out again, I'm just gonna remind y'all that comments are very much appreciated!
> 
> Malacath: One of the daedric princes, the rulers of their own plane of Oblivion. Their worshippers are often considered vile and evil by default, which is kinda weird considering their the majority religion for multiple entire species that are members of the Empire, or are at least playable. Notably, Malacath is the main deity for the orcs, and is the daedric lord of the ostracized. I personally take this to also make them the Pride God, which is doubly good considering the whole "all daedra are genderfluid" thing - their female form is called Silhansa.  
> The Burn On Jal's Sternum: One of the key spells that Vampires have is effectively a ranged life-steal. Since all attacks from a vampire (including just stabbing you, don't think about it) can infect you, and this spell is a constant effect per tick, this makes it highly likely to give you vampirism - and most vampires use it a lot, because its a very good spell.


	4. Making Friends

I think I sleep for a lot of the day. We are thoroughly in the mountains by the time I come to. I’m still thirsty as hell, but it seems we’re coming to a stop. Light breaks through into the back as someone opens up - Ingne. We’re near a river.  
“You still awake? Good. C’mon, lets get you cleaned up.”

Its now me, Gwynona, and Ingne, all waiting by the river. Cirroc’s guarding the waggon, at the insistence of all three of us (“I don’t care how suspicious you think Jal is, I’m not having you creep on us! Go!”). Which brings me to the always awkward stage of this.  
I don’t know Gwynona. And I don’t know where she’s from. I know that some places are better about people like me, but at least in my village (tongue meet fang), I’m only allowed in the bath-house if nobody else is present, and I get kicked out the moment they have a customer. The local argonian is cool with me, though. I have some suspicions about why that is - I’ve heard its a lot easier for them. I know Ingne is clear with me, obviously, but-  
“Babe. You’re worrying yourself. Its nothing she hasn’t seen before, and if Gwyn’s got issues with us, she can go back to Cirroc and we’ll drop her off at the next village.”  
The brunette raises her eyebrow at me. I sigh, and start to take off my shirt, giving the pair their cue to do the same. When it comes to the breeches, Gwyn gives a nod of understanding, but thankfully says nothing. We step into the river, the others gasping at the cold while I finally feel some relief once more from the heat of the sun. The dirt of my escape scrubs off quickly, and before long, we’re all lying back in the shallows. I quickly cuddle up to my protector, but I’m already sweating again in the unseasonal heat (ah yes, the heat of an unusual season - that’s what you feel, chimes in the ever present thought) and so I quickly duck deeper, keeping the cool stream over my stomach. My tits might be sweltering still, but at least the rest of me is comfy now.  
“You getting comfy there, Jal?” comes a voice from a short distance above me. I shake my head slightly, nuzzling against her abs even more.  
“Yep!”  
She chuckles, patting my head as Gwyn sits there.  
“So… are you two, like…?” comes a final break in the girl’s silence.  
“Hm? Oh, no, we just enjoy each other’s company.”  
“Plus, have you seen her muscles?”  
Gwyn stares at me for a second.  
“They’re real good! C’mon, come get your own headrest!”  
Ingne sighs, the kind of shaky one that I know she’s trying to hide laughter in.  
“I suppose I have room for one more.”  
Gwyn continues staring for a second.  
“Fuck it.”

The rest of the relaxation goes calmly, the ice now thoroughly broken - both figuratively and literally, to hear them talk. But before too long, and having managed to avoid some of the more awkward questions (it seems Gwyn is at least knowledgeable enough of trans people to not make any of the common annoyances), the time comes to suit back up. A whisper from Ingne of something she wants to try, and I’ve got a jet of fire for use as an impromptu dryer, which worked surprisingly well. Now relatively dry, we suit back up, and meander back to the carriage. I get back in, the entrance is blocked back up, and I lose the distractions from my hunger until the next stop

\--

The sun’s nearly down when we stop. Blessed cold, blessed twilight, blessed not-getting-sunburn-from-existing. We’re nearly through the mountains, and I can see the plains of northern Hammerfell beyond - this really has been fast. We must be around a third of the way through the journey already.  
We set up tents, but Gwyn can’t make an excuse to send Cirroc away again - they normally operate on a rota, apparently. So I’m stuck with his baleful stares until the new friend returns, and conversation can finally start along with cooking.  
More stew. I try it, but honestly can’t bring myself to finish - its not that its unappetising, it has all the flavours I used to love! I just. Don’t.  
It feels like it lacks flavour, now, even though I know on an intellectual level that its all there - my tastebuds just say they don’t care.  
Ingne clearly notices, at least to me, but doesn’t say anything.  
We break, dispose of the trash, stamp out the fire, and depart to our tents - and as soon, as the flap closes, she starts her questioning.  
“Jal, talk to me. Something is clearly going on. You have a fever that only appears in the sun regardless of temperature, your eyes are turning red, and don’t think I haven’t seen the constant wincing. You have. To tell me. What’s going on.”

Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gwyn's nice, I think, and I hope you all do too! But as for that last comment... it seems some explanations are in order.  
> As always, comments are very much appreciated, and here comes the list of things - though a lot shorter today!
> 
> Argonians: A species of bipedal lizardpeople, who worship and are in fact entirely controlled by a series of large trees called the Hist. The Hist are masters of biological manipulation, up to and including finding a way for Argonians to entirely change gender presentation within a tiny space of time, as evidenced by a quest in Elder Scrolls Online where you assist one with doing just that.


	5. Confessions

“Thats- that’s going to be kinda hard to explain.” I wrack my brain. How long have I known her? Will she damn me for this? Gods, this is reminding me of coming out in the first place, but that didn’t involve a murder! Do I trust her?  
Do I have a choice?  
“Try me.”  
I’m miles from civilisation, starving, and I should really face it, probably literally for the last one. The only blood I’ve drank is from my friend. Because it killed him. I don’t have a choice, I’ll die without her help, the worst she can do is speed that up. Here goes nothing.  
“I need you to be calm about this, okay?”  
I nervously bare my fangs.  
“Calm about what, Jal?!”  
Oh shit, right, its night. I summon a flame, holding it what is turning out to be extremely uncomfortably close to my face.  
“Ah.” Her hand is at her axe now.  
“Ingne, I said you need to be calm, please let me explain!”  
“You have ten seconds. For our previous friendship.”  
I start to lay it bare, and she starts to relax.  
I tell her about the ruined castle I found, untouched by other scavengers. I tell her how I scout it out, finding no big threats - just a few traps. I tell her how I move through room by room, taking every damn candlestick and spoon that isn’t nailed down. I tell how I creep into the master bedroom, spying a chest within. I tell her about the corpse that stands up, and points magic at me, a horrible vortex of dark energy peeling away from my flesh that burns like my heart is on fire. I tell her of how I bury my knife in the things throat, and it keep clawing at me, so I keep stabbing it until it stops. I tell her how I run back to the guild hall, barely able to stand.  
I tell her how I spend three days and needs in bed with fever, barely able to eat or drink, out of my mind with boredom and thirst but unable to move. I tell her how I wake up one day, so thirsty I black out. How I come to with my best friend’s blood pouring my throat. I tell her how I get seen.  
I’m weeping now, quiet sobs as I finally let myself even think about what happened for the first time.  
I tell her how the brother of the person closest to me stabs me in the stomach with an axe, and I tell her how he dies too, my survival instinct running on automatic. I tell her how I’m stunned. I tell her how I go to gather my things, and how the someone else must’ve found the body. I tell her of the mob, of everyone I grew up hunting my down with torches, and knives, and swords. I tell her how I flee to here.  
I tell her how I don’t want to kill anyone, I don’t want any of this. I tell her of how when I drank the soup yesterday, it left me still hungry. I tell her of how I can see perfectly in the dark. I tell her of how at first, the sun held no discomfort for me. I tell her of how casting a single spell nearly incapacitated for over an hour, just because I did so in the sunlight.  
She asks if I really healed the burn over my sternum. I show her where the axe hit me, and how there isn’t even a scar.  
She asks why I didn’t kill her the first night, when we slept together. I start repeating myself, and she asks what I did with the friend whose skin I wear.  
I start to weep.

I think she left at some point. I couldn’t see. I was curled in a ball, crying my first tears since… since I died. I hear her come back in. I can certainly smell the wineskin she drops at my head. From the sounds, it lies empty.

“I don’t know if you’re still Jallisse. Everything I know says you aren’t. But…”  
I left my head. I can smell iron for some reason. My vision is tinted red.  
“But clearly, some things have been wrong before. I’ve seen you walk in the light of Magnus. You’ve had your chances to kill me, and you haven’t, and I don’t see any benefit for a monster to wait. It could be because we’re now far from help, but we were just as far that night and you did nothing.”  
She’s sitting down on the bedroll, her knees against her chin, her arms wrapped around her legs. I can’t see her face.  
“I can’t think of why a monster wouldn’t have killed me when it had the chance. You…”  
She sways. I don’t know if she’s drunk, or exhausted, or what.  
“You chose not to kill me while you had the chance. Either you’re a sadistic monster in the shape of my friend…”  
I turn my face back against the floor. I ran out of tears a short while ago.  
“… or you’re still my friend, and you’re hurting.” Her voice is hoarse. I can’t think. I’m too busy fighting off sorrow, and loss, and shame, and an almost overwhelming hunger.  
“And if you’re my friend, and you’re hurt, you’re hurt deeper than I’ve ever been and I’m here accusing you of wanting to kill me while you open up to me.”  
I hear a familiar thunk. The sound of her war axe hitting the ground. Suddenly, I feel a familiar weight on top of me.  
“I’m willing to-”  
She’s hugging me, I realise. Curled over, almost protectively, if awkwardly given our positions.  
“I mean to say. I’m sorry.”  
I’m still shaking in her arms. She doesn’t say anything after that, for I don’t know how long.

Eventually, I calm down. It feels like an understatement to just have it happen over time, but thats how panic works, it seems. I start to shift, and Ingne lets go of me. I manage to sit up, and look at her.  
She’s been crying too. I don’t know why this surprises me - I was probably too busy worrying that she’d kill me.  
“Ingne, I-” She holds up a hand to stop me.  
“Please. Let’s just- just sleep, now. I need-”  
She takes a breath.  
“I’ve had enough revelations for today.”  
I hesitate for a second, wanting to comfort her. A slight smile wins out.  
“Okay.”

We separate, and I wipe my eyes, discovering the source of the smell. Apparently when I’m out of tears, it uses blood instead. Which has worrying implications, given that I ran out of tears after smelling that. I start to strip when Ingne calls out again:  
“Babe - I think I can see your eyes. You said you can see in the dark, right?”  
“Yes?” I call back, hesitantly.  
“Turn around while I get changed. Pervert.” I can hear the laugh in her voice, but do so anyway before throwing my shirt at her. A few seconds later, I hide a relieved smile as her thrown boot bounces off my leg. It’s nice being able to joke around again.  
Of course, once we’re good and naked and in bed, I can feel her tense up at my touch - but, a few seconds later, she relaxes.  
“So, Jal, I’m just thinking of the timeline here.”  
I grunt noncommittally.  
“You turned and fed on the same day, right? Three, maybe four days ago now?”  
I give a hum of affirmation, my forehead pressed against her back.  
“Right, this is getting nowhere, gimme a second.”  
She twists and turns until we face each other before continuing.  
“You said that normal food isn’t giving you anything, right?”  
“Aye.”  
“So you basically haven’t eaten anything in four days.”  
“… Aye.”  
“Aren’t you hungry?”  
I keep my voice level, and my gaze fixed levelly at her breast. Away from her neck.  
“Very.”  
There comes the tension again.  
“Shit,” comes her witty response, “So.”  
Ingne pauses. To be fair to her, I don’t think there really is much you can say to that.  
“You can control it?”  
“Yes, though it is getting harder to do so by the day. Its- no, wait, its not easier during the day, I just have more reminders that I can’t act on it. It’s actually stronger during the day, though thats probably because I have less else to occupy my mind.”  
She takes some time to think again.  
“And you killed the last person you fed on, aye?”  
“I believe so.”  
“How? I mean,” she stammers, thinking, “as much as I know the stories, thats a lot of blood to drink to just straight up kill someone. I find it hard to believe, that you can actually fit all that in there in one go?”  
I stare at her.  
“Ingne.”  
“Yes?”  
“I know what you’re trying to push me towards here.”  
“Yes?”  
“Shall we just skip the pretence and skip to the planning?”  
“Yes, that sounds agreeable.”

A few plans were thought out, and more were shot down. When it comes down to it, neither of us want to hurt the other, so any plan that involves that or is based on the threat of it doesn’t work. And that leaves restraint to be the most promising plan - as the nord puts it, she’s got a bunch of rope, and there’re trees nearby. Add vampire and rope to a tree, and then have a snack from somewhere that won’t go horribly wrong if either of us move around too much - so no wrist, neck, or anything like that. We thought about the hand, but that’d be just plain awkward logistics-wise (like trying to stuff an entire loaf of bread into your mouth at once) and also harder to hide than other regions. Next was the arm, but for some silly reason that I still hold is more to do with dramatics than anything else, Ingne’s armour lacks sleeves. So thats a no, due to hiding. At this point, we both accepted that Cirroc is a Problem here.  
When it came down to it though, we decided on the breast. No major arteries to be torn if anything goes wrong, and also it’s literally made to be bitten. I didn’t point it that actually only a specific part is made for that, because the safety and ease of hiding still put it above everywhere else we thought of. Plan set, time to check the coast was clear. I gingerly poked my head out - didn’t see anybody, and since I’m the one that can see in the dark, Ingne’d have to take my word on that.  
Time to suit up, and grab the rope.

I am not going to question why Ingne knows as much about this as she does, cause there is no way in hell that this is like, your bog-standard hostage-tie up ropework. Too many knots that show off too many places for that. Regardless of my current opinion of which one of us was the bigger pervert, the ropes seem to hold me well. No new-found vampire strength or anything to break them. This confirmed, she stood in front of me, a blush clear on her face which only I could see in this night. She started to unlace her armour, eventually loosening it to the point that she could grip a side of her cuirasse and- continuing here would change the rating of the story, I’m afraid. Rest assured that it turned out to be a rather enjoyable experience for the both of us. And then continued to be even more enjoyable in the tent. For some time.

Ingne, stop blushing. You’re going to set me off too.

Though, we probably should have checked to make sure nobody was around a second time during this whole thing. That would’ve saved us a lot of heartache down the line, I think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that probably turned out better than you thought! To be fair to Ingne though, she's already put up with a lot about Jal - she's trans, she ferries refugees that her own people target and are near universally disliked... what more does a little bit of consensual sucking between friends add to that?  
> Ignoring the obvious foreshadowing being obvious at the end, comments are very much appreciated and are what keeps new writers writing!
> 
> Today's random knowledge:  
> In the videogames, Hunger for vampires only has four stages, progressing daily, with stage 1 being immediately after feeding. Upon reaching stage 4, you are attacked on sight, and burn in sunlight, which is Not Good - I made it effectively the turning point, where you are simply too hungry to think straight anymore.


	6. Full

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: As of the end of the last chapter, we are officially on an entirely different path to my plot outline. This is going to be fun, cause now the driver doesn’t know the destination either.

When I wake up the next morning, I feel… full might be the wrong word, I could certainly go for a snack, but said snack was in the “singular apple” range rather than “entire loaf of bread” range like it was on the first day. And there was a cutie next to me. A very sticky one. First court of order - we needed baths. We smelt of sex, and while I’d gathered by now that my sense of smell was improved by my vampirism, that just means its only likely others can smell us, rather than a certainty. We were also, as mentioned, very sweaty. I’d prefer not to marinate in it. I gently nudged my way out of Ingne’s arms, and started sorting out stuff. The axe needed to be cleaned a little, it got dirt in its engravings when it hit the ground, and-  
Wait a second, is this what it feels like to be a day person? Huh. That’s new.  
I hear someone stirring behind me, and a voice mumble something.  
“Yes~?”  
“’S too early…” comes the faint reply.  
I glance around, making sure it isn’t just my night vision.  
“Looks like the sun’s out to me, love.”  
Her eyes open a crack.  
“Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo…” comes another whimper.  
I chuckle, and walk over to her, pressing a gentle kiss into her cheek.  
“Yep!”  
“Nooooooooo.”  
“It’s daytime!”  
“Noooo, ‘s still dark.”  
“That’s cause you just closed your eyes again!”  
“Nooo.”  
“Ingne~”  
“Noooooo, no Ingne here.”  
“Oh? And who am I talking to?”  
“I don’t knowww…”  
“Well that’s a problem. I could’ve sworn that my old friend was in this bed.”  
“Nope…!”  
“Well, have you seen them anywhere? Six foot five, sexy as hell, likes singing praises of vampire tongues into the night?”  
That got her. Mostly, it got her to playfully hit me. Which got me to kiss her again. Which had us start kissing more vigorously. Which turned into a minor “who can send their tongue deepest into the other person’s mouth” contest. Which ended with her gagging slightly and me laughing.  
“Ok, ok! I’m awake, my monster! Now let me up, I need to piss!”  
Still laughing, I rolled off her, and starting pulling on my clothes. By the time she was back to get ready herself, I was outside heating up some of our journeybread so that the group could enjoy some jerky and toast for breakfast. Surprisingly, we’re up before the other two for once. I double check Magnus, but it is above the horizon, if not by much. Wait a minute. I do some calculations in my head, coming to the conclusion that it was approximately six in the morning, after a very busy night. Perhaps Ingne is valid in her sleepiness.  
… well, she’s awake now. Knowing her, she won’t go back to sleep easily either. Guess we’ll make do. It isn’t long before Gwyn blearily opens the flap to her own tent, staring vaguely in the direction of the bread sizzling in the pan.  
“… weren’t you meant to be ill…?”  
“I got better!” comes my cheerful reply. Honestly, I just find it difficult to feel down right now. I feel the most fulfilled I have in years, genuinely happy without a known cause. ‘S pretty weird, to be honest, but I ain’t knocking it.  
We sit in silence, Ingne curling up next to me for a hug while we wait, Gwynona staring into the occasionally spitting ashes of the fire pit while her brain switches on. It isn’t much longer until Cirroc comes out too, and the spell is broken for us to eat, pack, and make ready once more.

This morning’s journey was a stressful one, to be sure. Mostly from the waiting. It turns out that our camp was close indeed to the border of Hammerfell, and our documents needed going over. I could hear the guards outside, walking around, opening up a few of the barrels. Thank the gods we have so many layers of junk, that they didn’t bother going through them all. Just a few tense minutes, unbearable silence and the crushing weight of knowing that the fate of yourself and your friends is not in your hands, and then I felt the waggon wheels turning. We were free, and Hammerfell awaited.

We ate up the miles in silence after that, making sure we didn’t have suspicious eyes on us, but at some point we finally came to a stop. The fake goods were cleared, and an amazonian beauty was there to catch me when I jumped out. The scenery - I’d never seen anything like it before. Vast, flat expanses of grassland. The mountains rose to meet the sky at our west and north, sure, but never have I seen such a gap between land and sky around me. There’s always been rolling hills and forests at least where I grew up, even in my trips to Orsinium. I could only stand and gape. And then watch Ingne quickly clamp a hand over Gwyn’s mouth while whispering in her ear, Cirroc nowhere to be seen, because I am apparently an idiot. I must be drunk on blood or something.

Ten minutes or so later, we have excuse for another ladies only meeting, and Gwyn looks pissed.  
“You didn’t tell us we were transporting a monster!”  
“We’re not!”  
“Then explain the fangs!”  
“… You know what, you have me there, but she’s cool! I’ve known her for years, and she’s only over killed in self-defence! Actually, no, wait, you’re-”  
“Bounties.” I supply.  
“Yeah, bounties, but that was before all this anyway. You got turned, what, five days ago?”  
“Six now.”  
“Oh, really? We should totally have, I don’t know, a celebration or something tomorrow!”  
A vein pulses in Gwyn’s forehead.  
“Shut the fuck up, both of you! I don’t care how many she’s killed, we’re smugglers! I just wanted to know beforehand!”  
“Wait, really? That’s fair. I would’ve liked to know too.”  
“Babe. Your first reaction when I told you was to pull an axe on me. I think I was justified.”  
The brunette is already cradling her forehead in her palm.  
“Okay. You know what? Let’s move on. What’s with all the pet names? I thought you said you weren’t a thing.”  
We look at each other for a second, before I decide to answer.  
“We… aren’t, not in that sense. We’re just close friends. Wait, no thats making light of it, I’m bad at explaining things. Have you heard of aromanticism?”  
She shrugs.  
“Well, I’m aromantic - I think, at least. I don’t feel romantic attraction to people. I can enjoy their company, I can love them as a friend - because there are more types of love than just the romantic kind - but whenever I’ve tried to go down that route, I’ve found that it just doesn’t align with me. I don’t mesh with the way it works. I still fuck, I still enjoy people’s company, and hell, I’d take an axe for Ingne if I thought it’d help the situation, but we stay very close friends. With lots of benefits. Course, cause of that it means that whatever kind of relationship we have, neither of us see it as really exclusive. I’d be perfectly fine with her having flings, dating, all that. I’d probably be a bit miffed if she married someone and went exclusive without at least ending whatever we have, but then again, I’d get a bit miffed if she was getting serious with someone and didn’t tell me in the first place. Y’get what I’m trying to say?”  
Gwyn says nothing. I turn to Ingne.  
“Too much?”  
“I think you broke her, babe. To be fair though, it’s hardly a simple explanation you gave. Pretty sure you spent a lot longer than that going over it with me.”  
“I mean. Yeah, course I did. I wanted to make sure I could back out and still stay friends if I thought it was losing you, cause I get stupidly terrified at the thought of losing people I care about.”  
“Aww, you care about me? How sweet~” she teases, placing a hand over her heart. Gwyn seems to finish rebooting while we bicker and flirt, just in time.  
“Okay, so before you start like, making out or something, I’ve got two questions.”  
“Shoot,” we reply.  
“Important one - how are we going about feeding you, cause last I checked vamps aren’t known for their taste in soup?”  
“We, uh, we’re working on that,” comes my response, as Ingne starts to blush.  
“You have eaten, right? Cause regardless of how nice you are, I don’t want to deal with a starving one of you lot.”  
“I mean, I can show you the proof, if-” a beet red Ingne kicks me in the butt.  
“As funny as this is, honestly? I would. Especially since I heard feeding kills people.”  
“Go on, show her then~!” My tease is somewhat muffled by the moss I landed in at first, but I quickly spin round to watch, “It’s not like she hasn’t seen both of us naked before.”  
“Yes, but it feels worse like this! Give me a second!”  
The blond takes a breath, and then starts to unlace her pseudo-corset once more, a sight Gwyn seems very unimpressed by.  
“You had to bite her right on the tit, huh?”  
“Have you seen how much her armour covers? I genuinely don’t think I could’ve bitten her anywhere not lewd and still hidden it. Pretty much every else we could think of has arteries near it, and we didn’t want to let it go bad if something happened. Hell, I had to be tied up for it just in case!”  
Gwyn raises an eyebrow at that. Please stop doing that, Gwyn, I feel like you’re going to strain the muscles with how much you do it at some point.  
“Ok, leaving you two perverts aside, I think we’ve proved that you have a food source. How long can one person last you?”  
“I didn’t notice any effects from it, exhaustion-wise,” Ingne chimes in, “I’d say anything I lost got replaced by the morning.”  
“And seeing as that was my first feeding since I was turned, and I feel only a little peckish, I’d say that I can probably go at least three or four days between feeding without like, actually dying. It just- I’d very much prefer not to go that hungry again. Three days without eating is distracting, to say the least of it.”  
“Okay, so four days is the theoretical limit, and we try to get you fed every other day, aye? Unless we find a second person that doesn’t mind being a snack, that is.”  
Ingne and I glance at each other, and nod.  
“Sounds good.”  
“Second problem, then - I assume you know Cirroc’s opinion of you? Cause even with me in on this, he’s gonna find out sometime if he stays with us. And he won’t take it lightly. What are we doing about him?”  
“Plan’s already sorted for him,” answers Ingne, “We’re gonna drop him off at the next village we see. If he complains, it’s cause he was behaving aggressively to valued friends and customers, and it doesn’t get truer than that.”  
Gwyn glances between the both of us.  
“Everything settled, then?”  
“Aye,” comes our overlapping response.  
“Then let’s get back to the road. The sooner the ass is gone, the better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Waves various pride flags I'm a part of*  
> Comments are appreciated!
> 
> We don't have any specific notes today, so I'll clarify the hearing it kills people: if you feed on someone during combat, it's lethal, but outside it isn't. I'll also never understand how you can drink enough to kill people - you need to drink enough that it straight up does not logically fit in your stomach, so I headcanon that you simply aren't being careful when you do it, tearing their neck open and leaving them to bleed out afterwards.


	7. Laying Plans

The afternoon proceeds as planned, though now that everyone is on the same page regarding Cirroc, I feel like you could cut the tension with a knife. I keep replaying the plan, trying to reassure myself everything’s going to be fine, until I spot the obvious problem. We’re skirting the mountain range to save time, and the general populace of the region has a culture that literally demands my death. We can’t go to towns. It’s too much of a risk. We have to stick to the minor regions, no patrols, nothing like that. While this was the plan even when we first started, there’s going to be a bandit problem. And we’re going to ditch a quarter of our combat strength. From the looks of it, our only ranged combatant, too. Is a poorly-armoured warrior, a novice battlemage thats more trained with weapons they no longer have, and a- a whatever-Gwyn-is enough to fend off a bandit attack? What even is Gwyn, anyway?  
Well, that’ll be a question for the group, I suppose. I lie back, and start to think about my vampirism again. I’ll have the safety to experiment more with it, when the asshole’s gone. I wonder if I actually do have any new magic? The stuff that turned me was - it was like nothing I’d ever heard of. It was clearly a destruction spell, created purely to harm through direct magical effect. It felt like it was leeching my very self, my life force, my soul. I know that there exist spells that can drain the health, or mana, of a target to bolster the caster. Maybe it was something similar? It’d explain why it took so many swings to kill the monster. No way to find that out, I suppose. Fuck me if I’m gonna turn anyone, which means I can’t test it on anyone. Wait, bigger problem, it fucking hurts, no way am I testing that on friends anyway!  
What other stuff has my vampirism done for me. I know that I seem to be less effected by the sun while I’m more fed. I don’t think my fangs were out before I got super hungry, actually - wait, then why were they out earlier? I run my tongue over them. Smooth. Or, y’know, like an ordinary humans teeth. Actually, thats a problem, how do I bring them out? Try thinking vampire-y thoughts. Uh. I start to imagine blood, flowing from an open wound, down my gullet, flowing like a river down - okay this is just going to turn horny, I know how my mind works. I wasn’t thinking of blood or anything like that earlier, anyway. What had I been thinking of? A thought strikes me. Ah fuck, this could get complicated. I’ll just take a nap till we get where we’re going, its not like I’ll see any of the sights till then.

An indeterminate amount of time later, I‘m woken by Gwyn’s shaking. I guess we’re at our next camp then. We lay out the tents like usual, but the same sense of tension is present. We’re quick, methodical, organised, and we damn well shouldn’t be. Ingne should be cracking jokes, teasing Gwyn, shit like that. Now, it just feels wrong to do any of that. We eat in silence, and I have to push away most of the bowl this time. Just too full to finish, for once.  
Finally, after a torturous hour of this, we stamp out the fire and break for our tents - and with just me and my friend, its like I can finally breath again.  
“Not hungry?”  
“Nah, sorry. It’s hard for stuff to compare to tasting you, babe~”  
Ingne forces a laugh, but we both know why I’m teasing. I learned that coping mechanism from her, after all.  
“He was staring at you the entire time. Thats two days with barely any food, and you only look healthier afterwards - and he knows it isn’t the food’s fault. Do you think he suspects you?”  
I take a moment to consider.  
“I think he suspects something, by now. At first, he was just being an ass - overprotective of you, either by loyalty or by jealousy. He’s been looking for an excuse ever since. For all I know, he might just go for it cause I’m too weird. But now? He knows something’s up, for sure.”  
“Shit.”  
“That about sums up my thoughts, yep.”  
The conversation dies a little, as we think morbid thoughts. I pipe up to break the gloom:  
“So, how far are we?”  
“Ah, yeah, hang on-”  
She turns to her bag, pulling out an Imperial map.  
“We started here, a little over two day’s ride from Bangkorai Pass. I think you slept through the time we spent in Bangkorai proper, and we stopped shortly after reaching Craglorn. We’re in Lower Craglorn right now, and if we’re heading for the mountains before we drop of Cirroc, then we’ve gone too far north. We’ll be aiming for skirting around Elinhir, though its a few days journey till then, and we’ll have a mountain road to Skyrim through a rarely-guarded pass.” She’s gesturing around, pointing out the locations as names them, though I can’t help but notice that only two cities are named in the entire region. Pointing it out, it turns out that this region is just super low populated - they’re considered the only places big enough to matter. We should be fine.  
I have to admit, knowing the plan does reassure me a little.

Looking back, I truly wish we’d never planned to leave Cirroc behind. But we can’t change the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another quiet chapter~  
> Comments are always appreciated!


	8. Quiet Mornings

The night receded, and the day rolled round, as it is wont to do. The light brought with it a familiar sensation, one of too much heat, and the knowledge that I would certainly get a sunburn from this - even through the canvas of the tent. Still, it was hard to be pessimistic about things - today was the day for removing Cirroc from the party, and then it would just be me, Ingne, and Gwyn. I could be free, and not have to guard myself at mealtimes, when loading the cart, camp - that would be nice. And while I certainly a light feeling of hunger, I knew that today would be a feeding day too, so no need to worry about that.  
My partner stirred next to me. Yes, it would be a good day.

Packing up camp went as well as always. The tension of yesterday was there, of course, but now it was more an excited one. We all knew something was coming, and it was good, and it was soon. We double checked the map - according to Ingne’s notes from her last journey, there should be a mining village not too far from here. It’s connected to the greater network of carriages that take people across the region, so it shouldn’t be too much of a bother for Cirroc once we give him his pay and share of the supplies. It’d take the day to get there, but it wouldn’t be too great a detour from our route so long as we use a few of the backroads into the mountains and out again. I was almost vibrating with anticipation by the time the fake goods had entombed me once more.

The cart ride, as always, left me bored with nothing but my thoughts. And the heat. We weren’t that far from the mountains of High Rock, where it rains eternal - how on earth did it get so hot with so little movement south? I suppose I understand Ingne’s insistence on the lack of sleeves for her armour now. Only a few more hours to go, and we’d be at our first break. Apparently, another river - we’re hardly going to pass up an opportunity to bathe, especially in this heat, and we are running out of wine in our skins. Part of me wonders how much we lost on the day I announced myself to my partner. Ah, well. If nothing else, this trip has certainly taught me the art of sleeping on command, so I may as well do just that.

Seemingly moments later, the light pours in - though I know by now it is simply due to my now dreamless naps. Gwyn has her trademark scowl, so I doubt she’s actually mad at anything.  
“Hail, friend! How goes things?”  
“Shut the fuck up and get your ass out so we can go soak already.”  
“Okay, okay, I’m coming!”  
Never mind, then. The heat is very much not just affecting me.  
The river is a short walk from us, a large pool in a copse of trees. I don’t know if someone made it themselves, but it has just enough current rushing out one end to prevent stagnancy, and I’m certainly not complaining. We each fill a pair of the wineskins, which should last us more than long enough to reach another refill opportunity, and then quickly strip so that we may lounge in the cool embrace of the water. We sit there for sometime, mine and Gwyn’s heads resting against either of Ingne’s breasts, until I decide to pipe up.  
“So, Gwyn, I was thinking about stuff last night and got to wondering - what is it you actually, like, do?”  
I know I worded it badly as soon as the words left my mouth, but Gwyn seems used to my bluntness now.  
“I’m a ranger. Not so big on combat like the rest of you, but I’m the one that finds us the streams like this, and forages the food that goes into your stews. What’re you thinking of?”  
“Hm? Oh, just thinking of composition when Cirroc’s gone. Cause I assumed he was the other actual guard, that’ll leave just me and Ingne for bandit clean-up, right?”  
Gwyn is silent in thought of that one.  
“Well, it should be fine. Cirroc was our ranged, and I’ve got fire and a dog anyway. Though I do miss my axe, I’ve taken out camps alone, and I’m sure Ingne has before too. Just means you’ll need to stay in the cart, cause I don’t have any healing spells that’ll help you.”  
“Feh,” she snorts, “I know how some medicine. If you’re as good as you say, then we’ll be more than fine - we only need to scare them off, after all.”  
“Ah, true.”  
We fall silent once more, enjoying the quiet. Ingne finally speaks:  
“Sides, it’s not like you lot have anything to worry about. We’re sticking to the main road after this, and thats well patrolled enough.”  
“Aye, that’s true.”  
“Bandits are like Gwyn here - they stick to the back road.”  
A spray of water splashes over me as the breton flails, beet red as I raise an eyebrow of my own.  
“Oh, really now? I would’ve thought-”  
A hand clamps over my mouth.  
“Shut up! Y’all are mean!”  
It isn’t long before the group descends into seeing who can make the little tomato glow the brightest, though that isn’t to say the two of us highlanders don’t turn it around on the norsewoman every now and then - as much as she loves to tease, she never could handle it herself. Our little group is one of mirth, and I can’t wait until that’s the norm for us. I feel at home here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always appreciated!


	9. Beginning of the End of the Beginning

Eventually, we decide we should probably head back. The fire-trick still works, though I feel we should invest in some towels at the town - I begin to worry that I’ll accidentally catch something at some point. We make for the waggon, Ingne and Cirroc taking the front while Gwyn boards me up. Before long, I hear the familiar squeaking of the wheels, and we start to rumble along.

Left alone with my thoughts, they turn to Gwyn. Its not often I can get along so well with someone so quickly, though I suppose that it helps that Ingne already treats her like one of us. Speaking of, I grin as I wonder whether I should needle the woman as to how she knows about the “back road” preference - I wouldn’t put it past her for it to be first hand, and that is going to be oh so much more ammunition for our verbal jousts. In fact-  
A needle point tears through the fabric of the cart’s covering. Time seems to slow, and I twist to the side, watching the arrow lazily pass me by. I don’t think it would’ve hit me in the first place. I yell.  
“Bandits!”

The cart stops. I hear crates being hurriedly moved - Gwyn? Shit, we should’ve thought of this. I can’t help if- I hear a pained cry. I don’t think it was one of ours. Gods, I hate this, I hate this- sunlight appears as Gwyn tosses another crate from the back, revealing the mountain pass with the thick forest on each side of the road. I pick up the last one, shoving it free.  
“Where are they?”  
“Four up front, two archers flank.”  
I throw myself off, sprinting towards the sounds of combat, keeping low so the mentioned archers find it harder to aim at me. An arrow wizzes over me, so I guess she was right. I guess the tree it came from behind, draw my dagger, and charge uphill. A flash of pain stumbles me as an arrow appears in my shoulder, but it doesn’t stop me.  
My target comes into view behind the bark. A dark-skinned human in light hides, wielding a long bow of light-hued wood, knocking another arrow desperately. I shove my knife towards his throat, but he puts his arm between us. I click my fingers as he drops the bow, presumably to draw a knife of his own. A flicker of flame appears in my left hand, and near instantly, a jet of it is rushing across his side. He screams in pain, and my dagger finds its mark. One down. Ingne should be dealing with the melee, so I’ll take out the other archer. I give a quick glance at the corpse out of hope, but I don’t see another weapon I can steal. Damn.  
I run down to the road once more, now able to better see the fight out front. Three living foes, one with a greathammer, two with shields. I don’t take stock of their weapons. A fourth if lying on their back, black feathered arrows protruding from his chest and throat. Cirroc is in the driver’s box, another arrow knocked. Ingne is fighting the three, but clearly on the defencive - she has no shield of her own, and I watch her dodge aside from the hammer’s blows. An arrow clatters against the cobbles where she’d been standing, and I spy it’s source opposite me. Thanks to my flames, and the way the sunlight blocks my ability to regenerate magicka between casts, I can’t summon my wolf to cover my advance. Only one thing for it then-  
I charge straight across, and hear a shout of recognition shortly before I tackle the man. My hand finds his throat, pinning him to the ground as I stab deep into his torso, and again, and again, making sure he’s dead. That should be it. I stumble down the hill once more, catching my breath. It isn’t catching. Fuck the sun.  
The greathammer guy is dead, and Ingne is whaling on the shield-users unrelentingly. Cirroc’s aim is blocked by that, but- I hear a cry from the cart. I turn, and time seems to slow once more. There was a third bowman. I start to run, stumbling with exhaustion, as I see him loose an arrow into the back. I don’t see it emerge from the other side. He knocks another. I’m screaming. I’m only fifteen metres away. He pulls back the bowstring. Ten metres, and I’m stumbling. Part of me recognises that I’m moving far too quickly for how everyone else is slow. The arrow launches free. I see it slowly spinning towards me. Five metres, and I sidestep it. My target drops the bow, reaching for an axe at his waist. I’m there, and my knife is in his arm. He’s bringing up the axe into my side, and I stab him again, this time in the stomach. I see droplets of blood in his breath, and then the axe impacts me, knocking the wind from my lungs. Time speeds up once more, but I’m still stabbing. He must be dead.  
I turn, and look into the cart. I look at the arrow in Gwynona’s throat, and the steady stream of blood running from the wound. She’s moving her mouth, but now words are coming out. I’m crying. I tear open the lid of one of the crates. Its full of bags of salt. I tear open another. Wheat. There has to be a healing potion somewhere. There has to be. I can’t hear her struggles to breath anymore. I pull open another. Empty. A pale hand is one my shoulder, but I tear it away and tear the lid from a barrel, shattering a few of the wooden planks on its side. The pale person, who I dimly register as Ingne, puts an arm around my chest and pulls me back. The damned sunlight- I can’t break free. I used too much energy on the barrel. I look at Gwyn, and her eyes are glassy. I don’t think she was alive for a little while, now.  
I collapse.

When I come too, it’s night. I’m inside a tent, laying on top of a bedroll. Ingne is crouched, her back against the tent pole. I feel numb, all over.  
I ask where we are.  
She doesn’t answer.  
I ask what happened.  
She says they burned her body.  
I can feel the tears start. I tell her that is a good thing. She- she can rest, now. At least.  
I ask where we are again.  
We’re back on the main road, comes the response.  
I lick my dry lips. What- what happened with Cirroc?  
He’s still with us. We won’t be able to cross the border without two drivers. It’d be too suspicious.  
I see a tear roll down her face. I hug her. And we both mourn that we know it won’t get better from here. Part of me thinks it’ll never get better again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, the heavily foreshadowed angst had to start somewhere, I'm afraid.  
> Comments are appreciated!


	10. Quiet Mournings

We wake, and don’t speak. We just quietly hug one another, tightly, as if trying to make sure the other is still there. This would be a theme, as it turns out. Nobody cooks breakfast today. We just eat our sandwiches on the go. When we put me in the back of the cart, its something of a blessing - at least I have something to do now. I take the grip of my dagger, and start hammering the lid back on to the crates I opened.  
Gods, I just realised I didn’t even drink last night. It felt in too bad taste, we were both grieving. But its the third day since my last meal, now. I’m so hungry…

I want to say that it rained that day. I wish it did, almost - some sign that the world itself cared about the friend we lost. But this is Hammerfell. The sun shone on, blistering in its uncaring nature. I almost think its spiteful, sometimes. Our rest stop was quiet, again - another copse of trees. We don’t talk much, at first.  
With a hoarse voice, I bring up the food situation. Ingne bares her neck. I ask if she’s sure. She says she doesn’t find it in herself to care anymore. I hold her tight, and we both weep as my fangs pierce into her. When I’m done, she adjusts her single pauldron to cover it. She drinks from her wineskin - I suspect the last one without water in it’s contents - and we return to the waggon.

I spend the second half of the day deep in thought - about Gwyn, and about Ingne. Her death hit us both hard. Ingne has turned to drinking again. I think of the usual stages of a funeral. Don’t we usually have a wake, or something? Gwyn would’ve wanted us to be happy, I think. She may have a serious exterior, but she loved our jokes, and was more than happy to join in whenever the opportunity presented itself. Yes, we should have a wake. A night where we actually process what’s happened, and celebrate what little time we knew her for. Given that Ingne drank all the wine, we won’t have much of that, but. I’m sure we can think of something.

The stew that night was prepared by Ingne. Jerky, water, no vegetables, and I don’t know what she made the stock from. Gwyn said she foraged the food, so I guess it makes sense - it makes my thoughts of how much nicer it tasted when Gwyn was with us seem even more trite in my head. Of course it tasted better, we don’t have any ingredients anymore. When we go to the tents, I put my idea to her - she supports it, but a little thing called reality gets in the way of having it soon. We have no booze, for a start - and then we’d still have the problem of it probably not affecting me, so we decide that’d involve a bite. And we need to plan speeches, or something. It’d be a quiet affair, we decide. All things considered, in the end, we schedule it for tomorrow night - our last before crossing the border. We’ll stop by the outskirts of Elinhir, pick up some supplies - the booze, and some stuff for making an actually nice meal. Gwyn had been the cook, it only felt fitting that her send-off involved a feast. This decided, we went to bed. Of course, though the mood was lighter now than it had been, thats a little like saying that its harder to drown in a lake than the ocean. It took us a while, but Ingne fell into the uneasy sleep first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are appreciated!


	11. Sunset

I wake up after Ingne. I think this is the first time that’s happened since I Turned, actually. She’s wearing a necklace. It’s a heavy thing, seemingly of silver - a simple chain, and a large disk, engraved with intertwined strings, the edges carved into rope-like bands around it. It’s certainly new.  
“Where’d… you get that, babe?” I murmur, groggily.  
She doesn’t turn to look at me, but places a hand over it.  
“It was- it was Gwyn’s. I didn’t, I didn’t want to burn it.”  
My heart sinks at the reminder.  
“We should be shopping for the wake later tonight, right?”  
“Ah- yes. We should… let’s get dressed to go, aye? I wasn’t planning on stopping there originally. So it’s a bit far out for our timings.”  
I smile.  
“Sure.”

I spend most of the day planning for things I’m going to say. It strikes me that I only knew this woman for a few days, but she felt like family all the same. I’ve heard it takes some ridiculous number of hours to get to know someone - but on the other hand, we were together pretty much constantly for the days I knew her. Even putting aside my inexplicably strong sympathy for others, and my loyalty to my friends, I spent more than four hours a day being around her, all of it talking and getting to know her. There were so many small things I’d picked up on. The way she drops the frown when she’s sure it was just the three of us. That time she cooed over a moth that landed on her shoulder during dinner. All the tiny, little things.

We only have a short break at midday this time - just enough to distribute the food, eat, stretch our legs, and relieve ourselves. Then its straight back to the road. We have a purpose, and we need to be at Elinhir before the general store closes.

Funnily enough, we manage to make it just in time. Me and Cirroc stay behind, but fortunately he doesn’t try to interact with me at all. Ingne gets the guards to let her in, and she returns some time later, a wicker basket in hand filled with various cuts of fresh meat wrapped in paper, bags of spices, a bottle of whiskey, and several fresh fruits and berries that I don’t recognise the smell of when she places it in a barrel in front of me. All things considered, it seems to have gone smoothly, and we’re off again into the mountains proper.

When we finally break camp, the sun is setting. We make our excuses to Cirroc (mostly leaning on there just being stuff we wouldn’t be comfortable saying with him around), and while he clearly doesn’t buy many of them, we get away.  
The fire is made. The meat is put on to sear, infused with a little of the whiskey - we don’t know whether that’ll work, but it seemed the right thing to do. Ingne prepares the stock while I tend to the steaks, and when everything is ready to throw into the pot, Ingne opens her mouth to speak.  
“Gwynona, I’ve known you for little over a month of a half. We met in a tavern, hit it off over a few drinks, and the night was a blur until you shared your bed with me. It would be nice to think I’ll never forget that night, but seeing with how off our tits on mead we were, I hope you’ll forgive me that one slight.  
We didn’t see each other for over a week after that. We next met after I dropped off Jal’s meds - in fact, you only missed each other by an hour. You realised I was a smuggler, but the herbs around there were shit, and so when I offered you a job, you accepted. You said you wanted to see all the new places, the herbs you’d only ever seen in sketchbooks, the new animals. You always did love them, even the insects.  
You were always serious. You once told me that you didn’t know how not to be. I think, over the last few days, Jal might have helped with that.  
I wish I could’ve seen how you grew and changed. You were like family to me, and you helped protect Jal, which more than made you one of us. I wish you were still here.  
But as my partner told me, you would never have wanted us to grieve the rest of our lives for you. You would’ve wanted us to get through here safely, and so that’s what we’re going to do.  
I only wish I had more to say, but… I never thought I’d have to prepare this. I know Jal has some things they want to tell you, too, if you’re still around.”  
I gulp, and start to speak myself.  
“I only knew you for four, short days. In that time, you swore to protect me, when anyone else would’ve likely driven a knife into me themself. I’ll admit, we probably took too much pleasure in teasing you, but seeing as how you joined in against Ingne every chance we got, I can’t help but think you didn’t see that as a bad thing.  
It’s hard to find things that haven’t already been said. I loved your cooking, and I so wanted to have you explain your plants to me, if only because it’d mean I got to listen to you talk. And now that’ll never happen.”  
I steady my breath.  
“While Ingne has taken your necklace as a momento, I’m told there was a funeral. I was still out at the time, so I guess I’ll give you your tites now - it seems a good a time as any.  
As we commend your soul to Aetherius, blessings of the Nine Divines be upon you, for you are the salt and earth of Nirn, our beloved child, and beloved of Arkay. May you find peace in your afterlife, and may your bones find rest while they remain in Tamriel. Let no profane desecration fall upon your remains, and may Arkay protect your body and welcome your soul in His Halls, until Tamriel is no more.”  
I like to think the rustling I heard was Gwyn, moving on past us. Either way, it is time for the feast - we put out two portions, one for Ingne and one to be sacrificed for Gwyn. The whiskey is poured out for her, and Ingne downs a swig. As we’d agreed, I rest myself in the crook of her neck, and gently press my fangs against her.  
I hear a gasp from her. I hear footfalls from my back, and a deep voice cry out.  
“You dare profane this, monster!”  
I feel an axe impact with my shoulder, forcing me downwards. I feel Ingne’s skin tear under fangs, and the scrape of tooth on bone as I fall. I know instinctively how much I’ve torn. I don’t feel the pain yet. I make to pull myself up, and hear another shout, gloating this time.  
“I knew I was correct! She can only bemoan her choice of her friends in death!”  
Her body falls limply to the ground, a mess where her neck should be. I can’t bear to look at it, so I fumble for the axe at her waist.  
“Now, to finish you.”  
The axe strikes my neck. Now it hurts. I don’t know how I survive, but I have little thoughts of caring at the time I summon darkness into my palm, and fuelled by my numb hatred, turn it on him. I don’t know how, yet. Wisps of black smoke pour from him into my outstretched palm, accompanied by motes of red light. It would be beautiful in other circumstances.  
I feel my wounds closing, but a hollowness settles in my gut, and I hack at him. He blocks, of course, but weakly. It would be too much to ask for him to die swiftly and leave me to my pain once more.  
I keep hacking, and he keeps blocking, but my free hand is trained on him all the same. Eventually, he falls to the ground, and then Ingne’s axe finds his skull and there is no more to say of Cirroc.

I don’t know why I do what I do next. Part of me wants to say it is sentimental, needing some part of her to stay with me - that after losing Gwyn, I feel like I’ll take any chance I can get to bring back my partner. Another part of me, the part that calls itself a monster, tells me that I am simply that. Either way, I turn back to the still warm corpse of my lover, and bite down on her breast. I keep sucking on the blood until there is nothing left, and in my delirium, I feel that I have drank more besides.  
I sit there, for a time. I cannot bring myself to move. After what must have been only an hour or so, I stand, my limbs numb. I dig a fistful of dirt from the ground, and another. I sigh, and summon my wolf to me, instructing it to dig. I take her hatchet, and cut the limbs from a tree. When I return, a hole has been dug. I unclasp the necklace from Ingne’s neck, now stained red. I place her in the hole. I start to put the soil back on top.  
My brain is screaming at me the whole time. Don’t bury her. She won’t be able to wake up if we do. How will we comfort her, and tell her everything is okay? How will we climb into the bedroll together if she’s buried?  
I tell myself my brain’s a damn fool. I put the last handful of grainy soil on top, and plant a twig into it. I start to recite her last rites, but I falter. I can’t even get past the first few words.  
I give up, and pick up my backpack. It holds a few, a set of dirty leathers, some jewellery, my last remaining potions of change, and a few hundred septims that I intended to pay my friends to smuggle me across the border. I strap Gwyn’s necklace about my neck, and Ingne’s map to my belt, and I start to walk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry y'all, but we knew from the start that only one person would be leaving this story into the next.  
> Comments are, as always, appreciated!


	12. Afterword: Dragon's Fall

The sun is low in the sky when I reach the border. There is a red-haired, dirty man on a horse trotting towards me - behind him is a small group of men in armour. I stumble as I walk. I haven’t slept since that night. I hear a shout. I don’t register what it is.

Imperial soldiers step out from the walls of the gate I just passed. More still pour out of the mountain path ahead.  
“We have you surrounded. Surrender now, or be put to the sword.”  
Even if all of us work together, there wouldn’t be hope. The leader of the armoured column kneels, his hands raised. The others take their cue. The horseman tries to run, but an arrow sprouts from the horse, and when he tips from it, a soldier pins him to the ground.  
I kneel.

They take my pack from me. They strip me, supposedly to ensure I have no weapons, and take my Gwyn’s necklace. I am instructed to put on a set of rags. I do so. I ask them to give me back the necklace. They refuse. I say its the only memento of my dead lover. Tough.

I am the first to enter their cart. Something about the familiar wood, the hollowness in my veins, sends me to sleep before the others finish processing.

When I come to, I feel for the necklace, praying to Malacath that I misremembered that in my delirium. It’s still gone. The man opposite me wears ornate, engraved plate armour, a bear pelt for a cloak, though he is in just as thick a set of manacles of me. He turns to me, and I look up at him with dull eyes.

“Hey, you. You’re finally awake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus ends my sorta prequel! It'll be a short while until the main story comes out, due to issues with my original run not being as in-character as I would've liked, and the game repeatedly crashing on later runs.  
> Let me know what you thought!

**Author's Note:**

> And that's the prologue! I hope you enjoyed, and if you want to see other stuff (or keep up with my ramblings) my twitter handle is @KaraHugsalot !


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